


Medium Mocha Latte for the Dread Pirate Roberts

by ZygomaticBliss



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Drabble, Gen or Pre-Slash, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, The Princess Bride References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:24:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZygomaticBliss/pseuds/ZygomaticBliss
Summary: Lardo secretly loves working at Annie's, especially when this one guy comes in who never tells her his real name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether or not to put this on here, but it was awfully long for Tumblr, so I'm putting it in both places. This is not proofread or even glanced over twice for accuracy purposes. I am not an art major, and I only vaguely know one art major, so any representation of art majors I got wrong, I'm sorry.  
> It's almost 3AM on the Sunday before exams start. So, yeah. Consider yourself forewarned.  
> Enjoy anyway!

Lardo would never admit it, not to anyone, but she secretly loved working at Annie’s. Pocket change aside, she loved the atmosphere, the camaraderie between herself and the other baristas, even the rough-and-tumble pace of rush hours and exam weeks. She loved coming home from work at the end of the day smelling like coffee beans and spices and fresh-baked goods. She loved when she got opening shifts, so that she could decorate the board outside and the chalk menus on the inside. Whether it’s the standard rainbows and violets and pride flags that are never far from Samwell’s aesthetic or something more seasonal or relevant to current events or whatever, she enjoyed the occasional return to what she loved about art in the first place: making pretty or spooky or eye-catching things that made herself and others happy.

One of the best parts of working at Annie’s, though, was definitely all the creep-tastic people-watching and eavesdropping she got to do. She loved when the tall, solemn jock (Jack, he always said, just loud enough to hear over the noise in the cafe, always leaving a sizeable tip in the Wellie-themed tip jar) came in with the little blond spitfire (Bitty, he always added with a sunny smile that could probably melt even Samwell’s snowdrifts) who was not-so-subtly in love with his friend. (The other baristas had bets about when they’d get together, but Lardo saved her money, planning instead to spend the ten bucks on getting them a cupcake or something when they finally figured it out. She remembered when Jack came in alone. He _never_  smiled that much before. Or, you know. At all.) She loved when the tall black Canadian (Ransom - nickname?) came in with the even taller white loudmouth (Holster - hopefully a nickname too?) and practically finished each other’s sentences. No one knew if they were dating. No one - well, Lardo, at least - cared. They always seemed happy, and that was all that mattered to her. She loved when her fellow barista Farmer’s boyfriend Chowder came in with his friends. She’d actually had a class with Nursey (her last history requirement and his first), so she knew enough to only ever entrust his drink to Dex and to stay well out of their arguments. She wasn’t sure if they were dating, either. It was Samwell. Who ever knew?

She particularly loved when this one guy came in like clockwork at nine every weekday, three every weekend. She knew, objectively speaking, he wasn’t exactly a looker. He had the hair of an eighties rock artist who got lost in a series of back alleys, a pervert moustache, and the kind of lanky, tall frame that screamed “fuckboy” to her well-trained eyes. By all rights, she should at least dislike him on looks alone.

And yet.

There was just something about him that always drew her eyes back to him. She decided it was an artist’s instinct, wondering how the fact to capture the train wreck that was his mop of hair on paper or canvas, when she realized she was thinking just as much about his eyes, and his hands, and his mouth, and so she reconsidered.

So much of it was in the way he moved, she thought. For as much as he looked like the worst kind of Call of Duty douche canoe, he moved like a five-year-old, constantly bouncing from Point A to Point B, then practically vibrating as if he was just dying to get to Point C, and so on. But it was also in his eyes, which never dipped below her chin, or the chins of any of the other baristas on duty. They were good eyes, if a bit plain, but full of light, the kind that she had never been able to translate to the canvas.

And then he came in one day, completely out of schedule, talking animatedly with Jack (before Bitty ever started to come by), and she knew he could not be the asshat she imagined him as. Jack wasn’t smiling, not by a long shot, but Lardo saw in a glance that wasn’t because he wasn’t happy.

By some stroke of fate, though, the entire year she’d been working at Annie’s (excluding the semester she’d spent abroad), she had never worked the cashier the same time as he’d come in, and not for lack of trying. After that fateful unscheduled visit, she’d tried to get her hand in, but she didn’t do the whole cashier thing much anyway, usually mixing drinks because she was the best with proportions (funnily enough, she saw it as similar to mixing paint) and her math skills were not exactly the strongest. Still, she did it sometimes, but never when the guy came in, until one day toward the end of the winter semester of her junior year, when he comes in like clockwork, shaking the snow from his head and glancing around like always, as if he’d never seen the place before.

“What can I get for you today?” Lardo asked politely, trying to keep to her normal levels of monotone so the excitement didn’t get through. She’d heard him speak before, of course - his voice was loud, and he never really made a point to lower it - but she’d never gotten to speak to him herself.

“So that’s what your voice sounds like,” Ugly Hair grinned. “I didn’t know if Jack was lying to me when he said you had one.”

“I’m surprised Jack mentioned me,” she replied truthfully. She knew he was considerate, from the way he’d sometimes pay for Bitty’s drink when the blond was low on cash to the way he always tipped well, but there was a difference between generosity and noticing a barista’s speaking habits. “I take it you’ll want your usual?”

“Of course he mentions you,” Ugly Hair said. “You’re the only barista here other than Farmer who hasn’t tried to hit on him while he was trying to get his coffee. And yeah, medium mocha latte and a croissant. You’re his favorite barista in the history of ever.”

Lardo smiled as Ugly Hair paid. “He’s a favorite of mine around here, too. He has kind eyes, and he’s always polite. And I’m happy he’s finally found someone to make him smile now and again.”

“Who, Bitty? Yeah, the little dude just seems to bring out the best in everybody, I think. He’s really good for Jack, who’s been around so many people who are only interested in the worst.” Ugly Hair scratched his chin and smiled at her. “So am I getting my drink?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lardo cringed and grabbed a medium cup. She was by herself behind the counter at the moment, since it was the between-meal slump, and it always threw off her groove to do everything herself. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Let’s go with…The Dread Pirate Roberts, this time,” Ugly Hair decided, and Lardo shot back a grin.

“Aw, your Buttercup waiting for you somewhere?” she asked, scrawling the chosen name on the cup and going to make his drink. She was glad there wasn’t anyone else in the store to pay attention to; this was the most engaging conversation she’d had all week.

“Naw, I just like the idea of being a pirate,” he said. “You got a name yourself?”

“Larissa, but my friends call me Lardo,” she answered, tilting her head at the frown that took over his face.

“They don’t sound like good friends to me,” he muttered, and she turned it over in her head for a second before getting it.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing to do with my weight or anything,” she reassured him. “Although I wouldn’t care if it was, seeing as I am the smallest person I know, and all. Freshman year I had to make a sculpture out of an item of food. Most people chose cereal or whatever, but I made a vivisected pig out of lard. It was pretty extra, so I kind of got a rep out of it.” She was not prepared for the full-bodied laugh that accompanied her story. It shook his entire body, and his face scrunched up in a way that should absolutely not have been endearing.

“Man, that’s insane,” he giggled. “I love it.”

“Thanks,” she answered, handing over his drink and bagged croissant. “Have a good day, Captain Roberts.”

“As you wish, Lardo.”

* * *

It became a kind of habit. Every day, if she happened to be working at the same time, he would order and then come talk to her until his drink was out. Politics, art, Marvel vs. DC, literally everything and anything that came to mind. Every day, when she asked for his name, he gave her a different fictional character to put on his cup.

On one hand, she was kind of impressed. He never repeated one, not once in all the time she’d asked; she wondered if he had a list. But on the other hand, she was pissed off. Why didn’t he want her to know his name? Was it really bad, or did he just not want her to ask him out (which she did not do, ever™), or what?

Anyway, with finals and the utter shit art majors have to go through around that time, she didn’t really see him until right before she went home for Christmas Break, and she was completely unprepared when she did. It wasn’t at his usual time, and he came in with all her favorites. Jack and Bitty and Ransom and Holster and Chowder and Nursey and Dex all kind of mobbed Annie’s that Friday afternoon at around five, the once-Captain Roberts (and, most recently, Captain Jack Sparrow) in the midst of the probably buzzed crew. She shot Farmer and March smug smiles as she continued her lazy sweep up of the dining areas. (She’d had to deal with the _entire_ LAX crew, only barely sober enough to stand, just an hour ago. _By herself_. Fuck the LAX crew.)

As was usual, though, once former Captain Jack Sparrow shouted his order over the noise, he staggered his way in her direction.

“Hey, Lardo,” he slurred, but only slightly.

“What have you been drinking?” she asked, fighting the smile she could feel in her chest. She’s only been gifted with this idiot while drunk once, and it was awesome. He literally did not shut up about how pretty she was the entire time. She didn’t need it, but it was nice to be appreciated. Especially when said appreciation never once approached how “hot” or “sexy” she was. Only “pretty”. She didn’t get a lot of that anymore.

“Tub juice,” he burped.

“Sounds disgusting. I wish I had some,” she sighed, sweeping more straw paper up. “Especially after the week I’ve had.”

“Well, when do you get off?” he asked. “We got more we can save for you.”

“Actually, I’m off in about ten,” she answered, ordering the bubbles in her stomach to settle the fuck down. “If you don’t mind waiting.”

“Course not,” he grinned, giving her a tipsy hug, that, despite her instinctual reaction to flinch away, was actually quite nice. Warm and comforting. “Guys, you mind if Lardo comes back to the Haus with us?” Lardo blinked, not sure where the confusion started. Did he live with those other guys? Since when? And why did the way he said “house” sound different?

When he got pretty much unanimous “hell yeahs”, he grinned back at her. “So it’s settled.”

“Does this mean I get to know your actual name now? Or do I just keep calling your Batman for the rest of time?” she half-joked, half-demanded. She knew his drunk ass would only get one half of it, and she wasn’t particular on which half he picked up;

“Oh! You don’t know my name! Sorry, I always give the barista on duty some kind of crap fake name because I hate my real name and I figured I didn’t want to force any barista who didn’t like swearing into writing my nickname. It’s kind of habit. But yeah, my friends call me Shitty.”

“Shitty.” She stared at him, wondering if the alcohol had messed with his brain.

“Yeah.” He grinned, and she was suddenly thrown back to when she first saw him, ugly hair, ugly beard, ugly fuckboy posture. She grinned back.

“Swawesome.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment, kudo, or consider following me on tumblr dot hell. My url's jarvelus, so feel free to drop by!


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